What's Truly Pathetic
by Noir Lime Canuto
Summary: "At the end of the day you're still just some dumb girl willing to cry her eyes out over a boy who'll never be worthy of her." Of all the titles in the world, Hermione Granger never considered 'pathetic' to be one that suited her, until...
1. Feeling Lost

_ Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, who I am in no way affiliated with. I am not profiting off of this work in any way. No copyright infringement is intended. In case you aren't already aware, this is a Fanfiction site, if people were paying us to write this stuff I'm sure there would be less of it out there, and what there was would be much better. _

**Chapter 1, Feeling Lost**

She sat in the abandoned classroom crying, her body shaking violently with sobs. Sometimes she wondered if there was some sort of limit, or if she'd be able to go on crying over him every other day forever and ever. This was all his fault, anyway, for being such a git. God, how she should hate him. Her lip trembled with that thought, and she found herself announcing, voice cracking, to the empty room, "God, how I love him."

She heard a sound come from behind her. For a second her heart skipped. Was it Ron? No, no, that was a stupid thought, _he'd_ never come looking for her after she'd walked out of dinner, _he'd_ never be smart enough to figure out how to unlock the door, _he_ didn't care. She sniffed and stood up, turning around to face the door and expecting to see Harry.

She saw instead a lanky, pale figure, with slick, white-blond hair and a trademark smirk. He looked back at her quietly, an almost hopeful look in his eyes. After a second's delay, she felt her cheeks flush. He'd heard her pained confession. Was he expecting her to continue now that she could see him? The git.

"Why the long face, Granger? Potty and Weasel finally decide to leave you and run off together to have dirty, scar-covered brats?" He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. He probably thought it made him look rakish. Lazy, more like.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Hermione hissed, wiping her eyes furiously with her robes.

"You know, I would, but I think the longer I watch you cry the better I'll be able to remember this happy scene the next time I'm feeling low," he gestured to her with a sneer and took a step forward.

"You really are worthless, you know that, Malfoy?" Hermione shouted at him. She normally wouldn't have reacted in such a way, but he brought it upon himself. Right now, her stomach was churning with raw emotions, her eyes wild. She was feeling the sort of despair that causes one to strike at anyone in their path. "The most you can think of that's wrong with me," she continued before he could reply, "Are things like my looks, my family and my intelligence—things I'll _never_ be ashamed of—but then there's just so much wrong with you. You're cruel, ignorant, completely self-centered, it's no wonder you haven't got any _real_ friends, I can't imagine anyone ever liking you."

"You really think _that_ highly of yourself, Granger? Maybe you are smart, maybe you are relatively good looking, maybe to some people your muddiness doesn't even matter, maybe you're a million good things, but at the end of the day you're still just some dumb girl willing to cry her eyes out over a boy who'll never be worthy of her," he paused, a look of disgust on his face as he took another step forward, "At the end of the day, for all you're good traits, you're still just pathetic, Granger."

"You know what I think is pathetic, Malfoy?" Hermione walked toward him until there was an uncomfortable lack of space between them, but, finally stopping, she seemed to take little notice of that fact. Her mind was racing with all of the pathetic things Draco Malfoy had ever done, how his whole existence was pathetic. She leaned her head up, glared straight into his eyes, and finished, with as much venom as she could muster, "_You_."

"_Who,_" he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips as a look of amusement crossed his face.

"_You_, Malfoy," Hermione repeated, a little confused but mostly peeved by his response.

"No, no, it's 'You know _who_ I think is pathetic,' not what," he explained. Hermione looked at him dumbly for a moment, and a smile came over his face. Hermione Granger, speechless.

As Hermione searched for a response, it occurred to her how close their faces were, exactly. Malfoy wasn't tall, like Ron, he was sort of average, like Harry. Not as short as her, no, but short enough to be a speedy seeker. It was a shame, really, for if she had been talking to Ron, their faces certainly wouldn't have been that painfully close... but they were.

Hermione blinked, watching Malfoy with a rather blank expression. The silence was becoming increasingly awkward, but Malfoy didn't seem to know quite what to say either. Or, perhaps, he was enjoying her struggle for words. Suddenly but slowly, he brought his face closer to her, so that their lips were almost touching, and he murmured, "Lost in my eyes, Granger?"

She pulled back, nearly stumbling over, her face bright red. Seeing the look of shock and embarrassment on her face, Malfoy snickered with glee.

"I hate you, Malfoy!" she shouted at him, picking her bag up off the ground and shoving a few stray papers violently inside.

"Hate's a strong word, Granger," he pointed out, still amused. He'd moved back to his place in the frame of the door.

"Glad you recognize that," Hermione growled as she shoved past him and out the door.

** -X-**

**Note: **Thanks for reading, I hope you like it so far. :)


	2. Dizziness and Regret

_ Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, who I am in no way affiliated with. I am not profiting off of this work in any way. No copyright infringement is intended. In case you aren't already aware, this is a Fanfiction site. It's right there in the name, you know, look at your address bar. You see? Good, now that we've got that sorted..._

**Chapter 2, Dizziness and Regret**

His hand swerved smoothly this way and that, leading the quill across the page, leaving a swirling trail of black ink to mark its path. Draco wondered if quills ever got dizzy. He thought, surely, he'd grow dizzy if he was a quill. He wondered what it would be like to have a trail of ink or smoke or something left behind him as he soared in patterns on his broom. He wondered if there was a spell...

"...And then, in 1296, Bulfus the Brawny and his two kinsman, Igarnus and Lumpsy..."

He looked up at the history Professor. He was a ghost. He'd died but kept on living. Draco wondered what it would be like to live a life so insignificant, you didn't even notice yourself when it ended. It was one thing for others to forget you, but it was far more pathetic

_Pathetic_. Draco smirked a little as he remembered his encounter with Granger the night before. How ironic it had been.

"_At the end of the day you're still just some dumb girl willing to cry her eyes out over a boy who'll never be worthy of her._"

That'd been what he'd told her, hadn't it? He almost laughed out, but easily stopped himself. It was laughable, though, truly laughable, because at the end of the day he was far more pathetic. He wouldn't go so far as to _cry_, he'd never be foolish enough to call it _love_, but what he felt for Granger certainly hurt him sometimes, and he let it.

The first year and a half he had genuinely disliked her. She was so desperate to know every little minute detail, she'd practically inhaled every textbook and quite literally leaped into the air to be the first to give an answer in class. When the Heir had begun to freeze muggleborns, he'd said several times to anyone who'd listen that he hoped she was up next. And then she was. And he wondered if maybe it was his fault. Surely, the Heir had been a Slytherin. He'd probably heard Draco talking and decided it was a good idea. Plagued with guilt, he visited her petrified body as often as he could between classes when he saw that no one else was there. He was sure it was his fault she'd almost been killed.

After she'd punched him in third year, he realized he'd had a bit of a crush on her. He tried to think himself out of it. Told himself that if the roles were reversed, and he were a girl, he'd be an idiot to respect someone _more_ because they hit him. But it was almost sweet how she cared about the Oaf, it was almost admirable how she'd been so brave to hit him when he was flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

He was so glad when he saw her near the forest at the Quidditch Cup. He'd been to afraid. He'd mentioned Granger to his father before, insulting her eagerness to learn, pretended to hate her partially because he wanted to believe the act himself. He didn't believe it, but his father did. If his father found her while he was wearing his mask... Anything could happen to her. Anything bad. He couldn't let it be his fault again.

He was also glad to see her at the Yule Ball, but that was mainly for different reasons.

In short, Draco sort of fancied the girl, and it was completely and utterly pathetic. There had been a split second, the night before, when he wondered if maybe he should kiss her, just lightly on the lips, and pretend after that it had been to annoy her. But somehow that would be like cheating...

"...But since the Urkly Uprising of the centaurs in 1457 had resulted in the Treaty of Urkly-Averand..."

Draco studied the ghostly teacher again. He wondered about dying. He wondered if he died then and there, if he'd regret never being any nicer to Granger. He remembered something someone had said, or maybe it was something he'd read in a book, _I pity not he who loves silently, but he who is __silently loved and unaware._ He wondered if it would be crueler never to say anything to Granger. She, of course, hated him, but maybe just knowing someone cared for her would help her deal with Stupid Weasel Git's Bimbo Adventure*****.

"Day-dreaming, Draco?"

Draco looked up to see the dark, smirking face of Blaise Zabini. He supposed Zabini was alright, but he'd never really cared for him all that much. Sure, Draco thought very highly of himself, but Zabini wouldn't even _talk_ to Crabbe or Goyle, and he'd coldly turned down countless pretty girls for tiny, ridiculous reasons. Then again, Pansy had claimed she'd seen him snogging Theo Nott that one time...

"If I _was_, Zabini, it wouldn't be any of _your_ business."

"Sorry, I guess you were just mapping out your route to Herbology, then. Cheers," the dark haired boy strode away and left Draco, packing up his bag, to consider his encounter with Granger last night again.

**-X-**

** Note:** Thanks for reading :) Thank you, also, those who take the time to review. Sorry this chapter wasn't really action-packed, but I thought it necessary to explain where our Mr Malfoy stands right now.

**Footnote(s)**:

*_This was the original title for book six, but the editor thought it wouldn't sell._


	3. Sense of Direction

_Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, who I am in no way affiliated with. I am not profiting off of this work in any way. No copyright infringement is intended. _

**Chapter 3, Sense of Direction**

Hermione would normally have sat with Harry, but today Ron had gotten to him first, effectively claiming Harry for the duration of Herbology. This left Hermione to work with Neville who, as it happened, was rather brilliant at Herbology. She could easily have done the work herself, but seeing Neville glow as he was... She let him repay her for doing his work in Potions all those times.

The downside of this was that now she had a lot of idle time to spend glaring at _Won-won_ and his insufferable girlfriend, _Lav_. Hermione knew it was petty, but after noticing the parallel of nicknames between "Lavender" and "lavatory," she thought of the girl only as _Lav_. To be fair, the alternate definition would've been easier to stomach.

When watching them together became unbearable, Hermione tried to watch Neville instead. He was too _happy_, though. She was still in a rotten mood from last night, and all signs of happiness in other people left a poor taste in her mouth. Quickly, she located the person who looked the least happy of anyone. She would have done so even faster, had she not taken a moment to adjust to the fact that it was, in fact, Draco Malfoy.

After what could only be considered a victory on his part the evening prior, she expected him to be glowing with smugness, but instead he looked rather down. Gloomy, even. If it was anyone else, she would have felt a pang of empathy, identifying immediately with their sorrow. Instead, she was suspicious. Clearly something big must have happened, to keep him from taunting her now.

As the class ticked by, she kept stealing looks at him, to make sure he was still gloomy. He was.

Harry strode by Ron's side as everyone made their way back to the castle, and without thinking about it, Hermione let herself fall to the back of the group. Now that the class was over, she'd managed to forget Malfoy's forlorn expression, but it seemed he'd taken that opportunity to remember her.

"Fancy that, finding Granger all alone again." Malfoy's cronies were walking a safe distance behind them, possibly to prevent any escape attempt on her part. After glancing back, she chose to keep pace with him, but said nothing in response.

"Just like old times, eh, Granger? Just like first year?" She glared at him suddenly then, and he looked almost frightened. Somehow, what he'd said seemed lower than his usual comments. Probably because it was true.

"I don't remember you being such an arse back in first year, Malfoy. But then, I guess ferrets evolve." He laughed as if he were amused at this, she did not.

"No need to be so mean, Granger, I'm only trying to keep you company. Potter seems to have lost interest, can't I have a go at being your best mate? The standards are clearly set very low." He sneered as he said this and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes.

"What do you want from me, Malfoy?"

"I want to know why," he answered immediately, all traces of amusement gone from his face.

Still keeping pace, she turned to him. "Why _what_?" She considered giving a few sarcastic suggestions, but as per usual, curiosity won out over any other instinct, and she waited for his answer. She didn't have to wait long.

"I want to know why you like him, Weasely. Why _him_." His voice was low enough so that not even Crabbe and Goyle, now trailing along at a more casual distance behind them, could hear.

Now it was Hermione's turn to laugh. "No you don't."

He looked her unwaveringly in the eyes. "I do."

It was stupid. She should say nothing, should admit nothing, should offer him no more fuel to burn away at her with. By exposing herself to him, she could only become more vulnerable, and he had made it clear the night before that he would leap at any semblance of vulnerability. And yet... Something about the way he looked at her, as tacky as it sounded, compelled her to trust him.

"It's everything about him," she stated matter-of-factly. "He's completely lacking in self-awareness, but he has this... this ability to be so kind, so caring. He doesn't even realize it, but he's so sweet sometimes. So good. So sincere. He can't hide anything, he feels every emotion so fiercely... He's stubborn, he's a git, but, there's something about him. Something loyal, noble. He get's confused with himself, but his intentions, they're always good."

Malfoy scoffed at this. "Loyal. He doesn't look loyal to me Granger."

Her fists clenched. "_You_ asked, Malfoy. It's not my fault you're not in love with Ron."

"You're not in love with him," he corrected with a frown.

She matched it with her own. "I am."

"No, you're not."

"I am," she answered evenly again, refusing to let him prod her into raising her voice.

"Real love is suffering."

"I am suffering." Hermione hadn't noticed, somehow, that they had entered the school. Now they were walking down a hallway she wasn't entirely familiar with, just her, Draco, and his bodyguards. It was an entirely dangerous position to be in and she hated herself for only realizing it now.

"You don't even know the meaning of it," he hissed. "Love isn't pining after someone who's always counted you as a friend, who'll inevitably return to you after their stupid fling. Love is deeper than wanting, it's its own feeling, this deep pull that comes from inside your ribs, drawing you forward but not moving you at all, knowing that whatever, whomever you reach for will never be low enough for you to get to them."

Hermione laughed. "You're a terrible poet, Malfoy, and an even worse liar. I don't know what you're playing at, but I don't be ambushed today." With that, she quickly turned away from him and maneuvered past Crabbe and Goyle, taking a sharp turn and disappearing down another winding corridor.

"Should we go after her?" Crabbe asked, cracking his knuckles against his hand.

Draco shook his head, the absolute idiocy of the entire conversation rushing towards him all at once.

_ What was I even doing?_

_**-X-**_

**Note:**_ Thanks to those who read, and to those who review. I know it's been... What, 1.5 years since I last updated? But I'm a firm believer in the notion that unfinished stories are tragic, and so now that I've got the time, I thought I'd put another chapter down. It's not that I'm callous, I'm just busy_


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